


all you think of is me

by buckybarnes



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Hate Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 07:09:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10566207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckybarnes/pseuds/buckybarnes
Summary: But there’s no way in hell Dubi’s going to jack off to a fucking Sidney Crosby highlight video. He needs to cling to some shred of self-respect.(Dubi gets off to Sid's highlights; the next night, he gets the real thing.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> WHO'S READY FOR PLAYOFFS
> 
> sorry for any schedule inaccuracies in this, i know nothing about how time passes.
> 
> title from to your health by keaton henson.

Their flight lands in Pittsburgh late Monday night. Dubi’s exhausted and he really just wants to get to bed; games against the Penguins are what he lives for, really, and he knows he needs to be ready tomorrow.

Dubi flops down on the hotel bed, kicks his shoes off. It’s nights like these that he’s grateful he has enough seniority that he doesn’t have to share a room with one of his teammates. Dubi has a bit of a nightly ritual, if you could call it that; brush his teeth, jack off, and get a solid eight hours.

He fishes his laptop out of his bag and gets ready to queue up some porn – a video of some empty-headed blonde with fake tits that he can get off to quick – when he decides to give NHL.com a quick peek. There weren’t any huge games tonight, but Dubi likes to stay updated. It’s all pretty boring stuff; Toronto had beaten Buffalo, Montreal had beaten Florida. Dubi isn’t particularly interested in highlights (if you can call them that) from any of those games, and he’s about to close out of the tab when he sees another video on the right side of the page.

HIGHLIGHTS – SIDNEY CROSBY – MARCH 2017.

Dubi rolls his eyes at first; of _course_ the league has an entire highlight video dedicated to Crosby, their fucking poster child. But then he takes a moment to consider it. He’s playing Crosby tomorrow, and with the season that guy’s having, it’d be good to know if he has any new tricks up his sleeves. Dubi hesitates for just a moment, and clicks the video.

He fucking hates Crosby. He watches goal after goal, Crosby scoring pretty trick shots that have no place in an NHL game. It’s filthy, and Dubi shifts on the bed. His dick apparently remembers his plan to get off.

Dubi isn’t going to lie to himself; good hockey turns him on, okay? But there’s no way in hell Dubi’s going to jack off to a fucking Sidney Crosby highlight video. He needs to cling to some shred of self-respect.

It’s getting late, though, and Dubi needs to get to sleep. Might as well multitask.

He sets his laptop to the side, shoves his shorts down to his knees. He’s got the video paused on Crosby’s face, and he’s shouting something, his mouth open wide. Dubi thinks about how he’d like to punch that mouth. Or shove his dick in it. Both would be good.

The video is six minutes long; Dubi makes it to five minutes and twenty seconds. He strokes himself embarrassingly fast, his eyes fixated on Crosby’s hands, his face, his ass. When he comes, some of it splashes onto his laptop screen, right onto the logo of Crosby’s jersey. When he stops panting, Dubi frowns at it and grabs a tissue from the bedside table to wipe it off. He looks down at himself, shorts still shoved down around his knees, come drying on the inside of his thighs. He wipes himself off, too, and slams the laptop shut with a little too much force.

He sleeps for barely an hour that night.

* * *

They get their asses handed to them by the Penguins, and it fucking sucks. It’s 4-0, Crosby has two assists, and Dubi just wants it to be over. He manages to get them on the board, a shorthanded goal that keeps them from being shut out, and while it doesn’t really matter – they’ve lost the game, and, for that matter, home ice – it still feels good, the way the fans in Pittsburgh boo him. Dubi waves at them.

Nobody says much in the locker room after; they get undressed quickly, ready to get out of Pittsburgh, fucking shit city. Cam smacks him on the back, says something about his goal, and Dubi nods, not really hearing him.

Dubi’s the last one left sitting in his stall. Nick looks at him, concerned; Dubi waves a hand dismissively at him.

“I just need a minute,” Dubi mutters. Nick looks sympathetic.

Dubi, for some reason, knows the way to the Penguins locker room. It’s a short walk, short enough that Dubi doesn’t have enough time to think through what he’s about to do, to convince himself to turn around and get on the plane back to Columbus right fucking now.

He knows Crosby will be the last one left in the locker room. He always is. When Dubi sees him, he’s sitting in his stall, packing up his bag. He’s already changed into his suit and Dubi tries not to think about how well it fits him.

Crosby doesn’t look surprised to see him. They’ve never done this before, but Dubi’s thought about it, and he’s willing to bet a significant portion of his salary that Crosby has too. There’s a tension between them that can only be lifted through sex or violence. Dubi usually opts for the latter. Not tonight.

Crosby starts to stand but Dubi gets to him before he can get all the way up. He pins an arm against Crosby’s throat, holding him against the wall. Crosby could move him if he wanted to, but he just stands there, staring at Dubi with a calmness that makes Dubi want to scream. Crosby glances down at the bulge in Dubi’s pants, and Dubi wants to blush, so he shoves Crosby down instead.

Crosby goes to his knees so fucking easily. Dubi unzips his dress pants, pulls his half-hard dick out. He doesn’t go slow, doesn’t let Crosby ease into it; he shoves his cock into Crosby’s mouth, splitting his huge lips, and feels it hit the back of Crosby’s throat. Dubi groans and Crosby chokes a bit, glaring up at him.

Dubi pulls out for a moment and Crosby looks like he’s about to say something, and Dubi simply won’t have that, so he shoves back in quickly before pulling out again just as fast, barely giving Crosby any time to catch his breath. He fucks Crosby’s mouth like that, so hard and fast that it has to be painful for him. Dubi moans thinking about Crosby not being able to talk tomorrow morning.

Dubi doesn’t last very long; there’s no way he could, as keyed up as he is. He comes down Crosby’s throat, and Crosby, determined never to give up, tries his best to swallow all of it. A little bit escapes his mouth and runs down his chin, and Dubi grins.

“Fuck you,” Crosby mutters, wiping it off with the back of his hand.

“Yeah, you’re going to,” Dubi says, and it’s not his best retort, but he doesn’t really care; he just wants Crosby’s dick in him.

Neither of them have lube and Dubi opens himself up with spit, and it’s too much, but this is supposed to hurt. Crosby watches him and Dubi tries not to blush. He wants to tell him to fuck off.

Dubi climbs into Crosby’s lap and it feels too intimate, being face to face like this, so he closes his eyes. He grabs Crosby’s dick from behind him, squeezes it a bit too hard, and eases down onto it.

Dubi rides him at a punishing pace, his nails scraping down Crosby’s back, leaving marks. He’s moaning, too loud in the quiet locker room, but he really doesn’t give a shit. Crosby, on the other hand, is quiet; the most Dubi gets from him are breathy exhales that he has to strain to hear.

He opens his eyes at some point and he isn’t prepared for how Crosby looks. He’s flushed bright red, his hair clinging to his forehead in little curls. His mouth is parted just slightly as he pants. The first word that comes to Dubi’s mind is _gorgeous_ and nope, he’s not fucking doing this tonight. He grinds down harder on Crosby’s dick.

Dubi’s going to come again and he wraps a hand around his dick, jerking himself as he rides Crosby faster and faster. Crosby must see because he smacks his hand away, replaces Dubi’s hand with his own and strokes him much too gently for Dubi’s liking.

It doesn’t matter; it takes about eight strokes from Crosby and Dubi’s coming for the second time that night, all over Crosby’s expensive dress shirt and God, Dubi loves that. It takes one more thrust upward and Crosby’s coming, too, and Brandon can feel it, knows he’ll feel it inside him for the entire plane ride back to Columbus.

They both sit there for a moment, catching their breath on the filthy locker room floor. Dubi looks at Crosby’s lips again and thinks about how he might like to kiss him. He shakes his head and stands up instead, pulling his pants back up and running his hand through his hair.

He leaves Crosby like that, on the floor of the locker room with his pants around his ankles and Dubi’s come drying on his shirt. Dubi glances back over his shoulder at him and ignores the way his heart skips a beat at the way Crosby looks up at him.

“See you in the playoffs, Sid.”

* * *

Dubi sits by himself on the plane, in a seat at the very back. It’s almost midnight and the team is, for the most part, asleep.

Dubi puts in his headphones and Google searches “Sidney Crosby highlights” on his phone.

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/stantiers) <3
> 
> round one may kill me.


End file.
